


burning candle

by joisattempting



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Middle School, Bad Parenting, Breaking and Entering, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, I’m sorry, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Running Away, anne-marie is mom of the century sorry i don’t make the rules, emmett’s surname is feldman for the sake of the plot, he used his grandmother’s name when applying to college or something, her name is karen and she’d like to talk to the manager, only two are actually in it though, she’s also a bitch, should this even be in the falsettos tag lmao, whizzer and dee are good friends, whizzer is eleven and has a shit ton of siblings, yeah he’s here too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:48:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22269673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joisattempting/pseuds/joisattempting
Summary: a friend is in need, and whizzer brown has an idea.
Relationships: Whizzer Brown/Marvin
Comments: 14
Kudos: 25





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

  * For [statsvitenskap](https://archiveofourown.org/users/statsvitenskap/gifts).



> hello!! this is my first uh not oneshot  
> if i tried to put this all in one chapter it’d be annoyingly long so i’m gonna section them off. this is dedicated to one of the coolest people on the face of the planet, @statsvitenskap!! thanks for helping me so much in coming up with this crazy idea :)
> 
> comments and kudos make my day!
> 
> tw: implied child abuse, forced starvation, breaking and entering

Eleven-year-old Whizzer Brown was unable to concentrate. It seemed an impossible feat, particularly if you were in a position where your handwriting resembled a toddler’s and you still struggled greatly in grasping the concept of reading aloud (in a language you were perfectly fluent in, mind you), without stammering or halting in the middle of a sentence. After muddling his way through elementary school with more letters home from the baffled Mrs Jamie than he’d like to admit, his mother dragged him away to be tested for dyslexia. However, Whizzer had to admit that a sensation of relief trickled through his body when the tests had come back positive. There was rhyme and reason behind his egregious spelling and other aspects of his sorry academic career, and he was just as competent as every other sniggering child in that classroom, unlike what those older kids had spat at him in the lunchroom the antecedent week. Gosh, he didn’t want to think about that. Cordelia began a high-pitched lecture on the harsh manner they were treating her closest friend. Whizzer joined in after he’d finished the crackers he’d got in his lunchbox, and suddenly he could feel his hands forcibly pushing the eighth grader away from him, and his butt on one of the creaky, straight-backed chairs inside the principal’s office. But, in fairness, he felt no shame in having dyslexia; he didn’t have to panic about being slow or inept for the rest of his life, and nor did his siblings or his overwhelmed mother. 

The sixth day of February proved to be no different, in terms of Whizzer’s concentration. His English teacher droned on in his monotonous voice about analysis and paragraphs and, in general, things that made Whizzer’s head swim like an Olympic aquatic professional, and the boy was fairly certain that he’d only looked at the board three times throughout the lesson. Usually, he would try and fail to bother Cordelia, because God knew that she was too emotionally invested in whatever book they were analysing to adhere to his mid-class whines. Mendel, too, with his mess of frizz and curls and stature that made him look similar to a lamppost, would be out of the question - he was practically drooling as he stared in the direction of Trina Aronowitz as she gave an answer. 

Usually, but not today. Today, Whizzer’s eyes were pulled in a different direction. One that wasn’t the clock above the interactive board or the large oak that he sat under at recess with Cordelia beyond the window. The boy who sat at the desk across the aisle from his own. Who sat lunchless in the cafeteria in solitary, and whose friend Whizzer and Cordelia promptly became. His hair was auburn and springy, curls falling in his face as he wrote furiously in his composition book, hunched over at his desk. His eyes were steely and sharp, the exact hue of the sky. Typically witty and trenchant around strangers, but gentle and soft-spoken with the two people he could call best friends. Whizzer knew - the boy had been nothing but cold to him for his first two weeks at school in New York. 

Apparently, he hailed from Roxbury, and had just transferred that semester from a prestigious boarding school. Kevin informed his little brother that his friend’s hometown was located in Massachusetts, not too far away from the home they built in New York, after moving from Nebraska when Whizzer was two. His brother’s theory was proven correct one playdate, when Marvin Feldman’s Bostonian accent came to the fore as the two laughed about anything and everything. He hadn’t noticed it at first, but cursed himself repeatedly when he did. Oh, that was his name; Marvin Alexander Feldman. Whizzer liked his name. It had a steady rhythm to it. But, despite being one of the most gentle, bashful people the Midwesterner was certain he’d met in a while, he was insanely private. And that wasn’t exactly a helpful trait when he kept noticing questionable things about his and Cordelia’s new friend. 

It started out as excusable things - a black eye from the bullies across the street, scratches on his arms from an argument with his ferocious little brother. Emmett was his name, Marvin had said. Although Whizzer was dyslexic, he had a remarkable intuition. But it didn’t take much to realise something was horribly wrong. His scarily-thin stature, his hard R sounds, the occasional bumps and bruises that decorated his skin were explained one day, after their friendship had grown and blossomed. Every piece of the world’s most disturbing jigsaw puzzle clicked into place the day after parent-teacher conferences back in November. 

Whizzer leaned in the direction of his blonde best friend’s desk. “Ask your mom if you can stay over tonight,” he whispered, avoiding the watchful eye of Mr Collins, who still yapped zealously about the techniques used by the author to create tension, or whatever. “I need your help,”

  
  


_ NOVEMBER 22, 2002 _

_ “I need to talk to you,” Whizzer said bluntly, at that day’s lunch hour.  _

_ Marvin looked up from his homework, set the previous class, and grimaced. “I’m busy,”  _

_ “Where’d that black eye come from? Be straight with me. I know Emmett didn’t just do it by accident. He’s nine, he’s not a baby. And your mom didn’t look too happy with you at parent teacher conferences yesterday,” the Midwesterner pressed, crossing his arms over Jack’s old flannel. He’d been the recipient of numerous hand-me-downs, being the youngest of six. As much as he ate, the clothes never grew any smaller. Sometimes, his family couldn't be sure if the littlest’s high metabolism was a blessing or a curse. “Marvin. If something’s going on, I want to know so I can help you!” he added.  _

_ The skinnier’s eyes grew to the size of quarters, and he set down his pencil and tried not to chew on a swollen lower lip. An injury from the bullies of his suburb, apparently. A likely story. Suppressing a flinch at Whizzer’s final sentence, he shoved all his books into a ragged backpack and dragged him out of the lunchroom. It was all he could do to not break down on the way to the men’s room. He could still feel the sting of his mother’s hand on a hollow cheek at parent’s afternoon, and the nausea and terrible growlings of his empty stomach that came as a package deal with being deprived of his dinner the same night.  _

_ And on his twelfth birthday, too.  _

_ Although it’d happened on more occasions than Marvin could count, it never got any easier. The worst part was feeling whatever small tower of self esteem he’d built inside his heart come crashing violently down, like a wrecking ball crushing a structure in ten seconds flat. The worst part was watching his cheeks turn ruddy and tearstained when he looked at his spindly, spider-like arms and horrid knobbly knees. The worst part was tentatively stepping onto the bathroom scale and squeezing his eyes shut until the metal machine of judgement declared a verdict. The worst part was breaking down in desperate, confused, tired tears when he removed his shirt.  _

_ It wasn’t enough. It never would be.  _

_ That’s what he told Whizzer, whose frown deepened with every word as he listened, holding a broken Marvin in his arms as his shoulders shook and his chest heaved. One of his mother’s candles. A dainty, delicate thing that served the purpose of invoking relief, and the feeling that nothing was awful. That kept being burnt, and, when the flame danced impatiently for too long, gave up. That switched between a world of joy and light and one of murky darkness. That, as hard as it tried, would always be put out in the end.  _

_ “She doesn’t even f-feed me, Andy,”  _

_ Proper name. _

_ Double Science didn’t seem so important anymore. _


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which a plan is formulated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to cHAPTER TWO FOLKS  
> sorry the last one was short, but this one’s a little bit longer so hopefully that makes up for it? i’m sorry these are all so tiny but i’d rather that than one huge fic, yknow?
> 
> comments and kudos make my day, i hope you like it <33

“That’s what happened,” Cordelia said. Her and Whizzer sat on the bed of Katie, the oldest of the Price-Browns, who shared a bedroom with her two other sisters. Also present was Jack, deep in thought as he spun on his sister’s green swivel chair. 

“He says his mom doesn’t like his accent. She yells if he doesn’t cover it up,” Whizzer rubbed the back of his neck. “Apparently, mine and Dee’s scrapbook was the only thing he got on his birthday,”

“That doesn’t make sense. If you don’t want him to have an accent, have him somewhere that’s not Roxbury,” Katie piped, hanging upside-down from her bunk bed. “Jesus. That place is hellish,” 

Whizzer played with his shoelaces. “I wish we could get him out of there,”

Immediately, Jack paused his spinning. The other three could see a plan formulating in his brain, the cells inside working at rapid speeds to fuel the fire of ideas barrelling their way. They knew nothing good would come of that widespread, tricksy smile he wore. Jack had always been the troublemaker of the family, ruining science fair projects, flipping off of their outdoor snooker table and into the pool, fully clothed, and, more recently, getting himself sent to the principal’s office more times than the school could count. However, even his mother could agree that more often than not, it wasn’t his fault “L ittle brother, you might be onto something,” he said, pointing at the baffled eleven-year-old and standing. “Couldn’t we?”

“Isn’t that kidnapping?” 

“You’re like, not even twelve, Dee,” 

“Yeah, but she knows more about the law than you, Jack,” Katie shot back. 

Whizzer snickered. “Anyone knows more about the law than Jack,” he quipped. “But he does have a point-“

“Can someone write that the fuck down?”

“Jack Christopher, remove yourself from the premises, por favor, there are children present,”

“I mean, if he can’t get outta there, then we don’t know what she’ll do to him in the future. Sometimes, you gotta do a bad thing to do a good one, y’know? I… I don’t want to lose one of my best friends,” 

The blonde middle schooler engulfed him in a hug. Despite their brief friendship, Marvin meant a lot to her. She couldn’t imagine going the rest of her academic career with his wise words, witty jokes to lift morale on the commute to school, and homework tips. He was the one thing that her and Whizzer’s duo lacked. Two was lonely. Three was company. And she would do anything in her power to ensure his staying in the city. Even better, with people that loved him, and were decent enough to provide him with basic human needs. Well, if that meant breaking into the Feldman residence and stealing him away, so be it. He’d thank them later on in life. When he lost that pitiful dip in his stomach and the fearful look in his eyes. When he could drop the R in his name and not think twice about it. When he didn’t flinch when his own voice wasn’t so hushed. Then, and only then, would their mission be accomplished. “I’m in,” she said. 

“Me too,” Katie said, still hanging upside-down. “But we’re gonna need a plan,” 

“That, my good sister, is where I come in. We’ll take your bike - Whiz oughta fit in the basket. Mom still has your old sidecar in the garage. That’s where Marvin’ll go. We just need a wagon. Mom gave Katie’s to charity after the, uh, incident,” 

“I have one!” Cordelia piped. 

“Perfect. You’re gonna sit in that with his bags and shit - sorry, Kate - and I’ll pull you along. Mission begins at midnight sharp. Remember-”

“Don’t tell Kevin,” Katie interjected. “Roger that,”

  
  


“Are you sure we have everything?” Katie queried, strapping on her old princess bike helmet. “I don’t want this to go to shit before it even happens,”

“Who’s the one that has to leave the premises now?” Jack retorted, picking up the handle on Cordelia’s red, shiny wagon. She sat cross-legged inside, beaming up at him and clutching a flashlight. Jack’s expression softened. He couldn’t help but return her smile. The guy had always had an unexplainable soft spot for the little blonde, ever since the day his youngest brother had met her. “For the millionth time, we’re good. So long as Whizzer has his emergency cookies, it’ll be a cakewalk,” 

Whizzer stared at the streetlamps, their glow no longer illuminating the streets and lighting their way. All was sleeping and quiet in their suburb - the quiet before a rumbling, angry storm. Katie’s shaking hands tightened on the ancient bike’s handlebars as she led her troops out of the driveway. The childish, yet somehow reassuring smile of her brother in the sidecar as he quietly munched on cookies and the dull thunk of the scarlet wagon’s wheels behind her pacified her some, but a feeling of anxiety settled into her heart. She could never forgive herself if they weren’t able to help a friend in a dire time. But it wasn’t the carrying out of this extravagant escapade that daunted her. It was the aftermath. Charges, police, questioning, perhaps even juvie, if Mrs Feldman twisted the story enough and spoke to the right people. They could do what they wanted with her, but she would pound anyone who even so much as tried to put her baby brother in a prison suit. God knew their poor mom and dad would be at temple and church every day, not bothering to eat or go to work because of how much that entire situation messed with their heads. Now wasn't the time to get cold feet, however. Regardless of how much trouble they’d inevitably land in, they were doing this. For Marvin’s sake. 

“I feel like a creep, going to someone’s house in the middle of the night, but I guess it’s for a good cause,” Jack quietly mused. Behind him, Dee shone her torch at the mailboxes and houses they passed. She brought a blanket with her, just in case she went out mid-mission. “Where does Marvin live again, Whizzer? Next block?” 

Swinging the lanky legs that stuck out of Katie’s basket, Whizzer nodded. “Look for the mailbox that says ‘The Feldmans’ on it,” he supplied, before starting on another cookie. 

They picked up the pace. Playing timekeeper was Cordelia, who called out the time on her watch whenever asked to. Jack trundled her along in the wagon as he jogged to match the speed of his sister’s quick pedalling. Whizzer giggled softly, allowing the whistling twilight wind to slap his face and run up his jacket and through his floppy, brown hair. After getting lost in alleys five times too many, the youngest girl in their party was soon sleeping soundly. Flashlight duty was handed over to a whiny Whizzer, cranky after finishing the stock of emergency cookies. He squealed at them to stop when they came to a large, blue-painted house. The sickly-sweet mailbox was crimson in colour, with their surname written in peppy white cursive. A magnificent contrast with what occurred inside that absurdly-perfect house. Holding his torch high, Whizzer stared in wonderment, the reality of what they were about to do setting in. They were going to get him out of there, and probably run on foot back to Nebraska afterwards, and change their names so they could live in hiding from the evil woman of the house they were currently staring at. But he’d be out of there. And that was what they’d set out to do. 

“The Feldmans. This is us,” Jack said, kneeling down to rouse Dee, who pulled the blanket tighter around herself. 

Whizzer carded a hand through his hair. “Time for the hard part,” 

Katie dismounted, and used the metal stopper next to the wheel to keep the bike upright. Picking up a pebble from the pompous garden, she threw it with full force at the window that Whizzer had told her led to the bedroom of Marvin and Emmett. 


	3. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which the last part of mission is carried out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit it’s the fInALe  
> thank you to everyone who’s read this! i had so so much fun writing it, and i hope you enjoyed it! please let me know your thoughts, i love hearing what everyone thinks :)
> 
> tw: verbal abuse, implied/mentioned starvation

The shrill sound of smashing glass jolted Marvin, who had only been fitfully sleeping anyway, awake. Blindly groping for the brown, circular glasses he’d worn since the age of eight, he crossed his shared bedroom to the window. He treaded carefully across the carpet, so as to not wake the snoozing nine-year-old whom he called a brother. But, Marvin had to admit, Emmett viewed him like he’d abolished slavery, so he couldn’t be crude. 

His bare feet shuffled to a stop in front of the faint outline of a small rock. Squinting confusedly behind his lenses, the twelve-year-old picked it up, and, keeping mindfully away from the smithereens of glass that blasted into the room when the pebble was thrown, followed the trail to the window. What he saw only confused him more. 

“Marvin!” yelled a voice that sounded creepily like Whizzer’s. Vaguely, he could make out a girl on a bicycle, a wagon, and someone sitting in the former’s basket. He tried to process the situation as he opened the window. 

“I understand that I’m the most famous person to ever grace the planet, but what the hell are you doing here at-” he paused to glance at the glow-in-the-dark clock on Emmett’s nightstand. “Twelve-thirty in the morning? With a bicycle and a...is that a wagon?”

A curly head emerged from the depths of the wagon. “We know what you told Whiz that day in the bathroom,” Cordelia. “We’re here to save you! Get your stuff!” 

Marvin’s reaction came late, but his face broke into a grateful smile. “The door’s locked, but there’s a spare key under the doormat. I’ll be out as fast as I can,” he spoke quickly and quietly. Well, as quietly as you could through a window, to people situated two storeys below you. The second he finished his sentence, the older brother dived under his bed in search of his overnight bag, that also served as his school backpack. Unbeknownst to him, the rustlings had roused Emmett. Scrubbing at his eyes, the child craned his neck in the direction of his roommate. He scrambled out of bed in alarm. For a fleeting moment, he considered waking his mother, but refrained. He was young, not stupid. Telling her would only land his beloved big brother in a world of trouble. 

“Marvin! What are you doing?” he tried to whisper, but ended up squealing. His space-themed pajamas were wrinkled and his curls were tousled.

The older boy hit his head against the bottom of his rickety bed, cursing under his breath. Withdrawing his body from underneath the bed, he emerged with his ragged bag in his hands. He ran a hand down the side of his face, shaking his head at a perturbed Emmett. “Not so loud, Em. Go back to bed,”

“You’re not leavin’ me here, are you?” the child asked, his voice quivering. 

Marvin didn’t respond, only allowed his features to harden. He stared snidely qinto the eyes that looked similar to his own, his hands itching to pull this unsuspecting child into a hug. “I gotta. You know how Mom is. Go to sleep, Emmett,” he ordered mildly, frankly too sleepy to care whether or not his brother returned to his slumber. But a strange sensation pulsated persistently in his fingertips. He felt more connected to his younger counterpart in that moment, with nothing but each other and the eldritch glow of the white moon, than he had his entire life. Tears dripped in slow motion down his sunken-in cheeks as Emmett pulled him into a tight, shielding hug. He almost couldn’t go when he thought of how distraught the boy would be. Spiralling out of control, into a deep hole of depression, moody and withdrawn despite the attempted help from the parents that favoured him. He was only nine, for Pete’s sake. His parents were assholes, sure, but Emmett was the furthest away from one a person could be.

“At least let me walk you out?” he said with dejection. 

Sighing deeply, the older boy nodded. “Okay. Help me pack?”

They got to work. The younger of the pair folded shirts and jeans and mismatched pajamas, while Marvin collected his toiletries and school equipment. Both wiped at their swimming eyes, working with silent efficiency to get the job done. All too soon, Marvin’s maroon knapsack was heavy with clothes, textbooks, and other keepsakes he couldn’t part with. More than anything he wanted to piggyback the boy out of their nightmare, as thought they were playing one of their pretend games from when they were three and one. And someday, he hoped he could. 

“I guess this is it, Em,” Marvin muttered, tugging at the sleeve of the jacket he’d put on over his pajamas. 

“Promise you’ll come visit?” Emmett squeaked, wrapping his arms around the other boy’s waist. Squeezing his eyes shut, he buried his head into Marvin’s stomach. 

“I can’t. ‘S too scary. But you know Mrs Anne-Marie will be happy to have you over,” Marvin said, but the comforting words were aimed more at himself than his sobbing little brother. The entire situation conflicted him - his heart felt freer and the world seemed to have tumbled off his shoulders at the prospect of fleeing the nest of terror. He wouldn’t have to fret about earning his dinner or competing for praise with the brother he loved so dearly. Bathroom scales wouldn’t trigger flinches or grisly memories. Conversations could be held without the underlying fear of being slapped if so much as a word came out accented. So, why was he so scared? 

He was about to open another door of thoughts when a disheveled, cross-looking Karen Feldman marched through the doorway, wearing her lace nightwear. As per usual, her brows were furrowed and she squinted in disgust at her firstborn. “What’s going on? Get your butt back to bed, Marvin Feldman, or you’ll be sorry,” she growled, advancing on him. 

Marvin didn’t have time to think. Shoving her out of his way, he made a mad dash for the staircase, shouldering his backpack as his legs propelled him forward. He knew he’d awakened the sleeping bear by pushing. His heart rate skyrocketed, fear washing over him like a tsunami. Goosebumps popped up on his arms. His hair stood on end. Heavy footsteps could be heard, thudding against the hardwood. His mother screeched threats and insults as she chased after him, but the boy tuned them out, just as he had for the past few years. It was only when he began his descent down the hardwood stairs, that he felt a hand roughly grip the hood of his too-big sweater, passed down from his uptight father, forcibly tugging him backwards. Karen lifted him off the ground by the scruff, steely blue eyes gazing into his cowering soul. 

“If you leave, don’t you think about crawling back here,” she hissed. Her sinister whispers petrified Marvin more than her incandescent screams. “But you can go right ahead. It’s a rough world out there, kiddo. Go. See how it treats you. When you’re homeless and begging on the streets for food, not that you need it, I want you to think of us. Think about what you’re doing. Think about what kind of trouble you’re going to get yourself, and those disgusting people in. Why don’t you go back to bed and serve your punishment, like the good little boy I’ve taught you to be?”

Marvin said nothing, his feet still hovering off the ground. He was going to leave. Leave, and start anew. Leave, and turn the page to a new chapter in the Book of Marvin. The one where our hero grew up, and began man’s clueless wander into life’s dense woods, that you could stay lost in for aeons if you so much as took one wrong turn. Leave, and try out a life he wasn’t ready for. One he eventually would be ready for, but not now. One of fending for yourself, ensuring your dues were paid and there was food on the table and an area, of sometimes varying quality, to lay down in when the sun went down. One he wasn’t supposed to even think about until he’d had his briefing, his childhood, his adventures in collecting knowledge and acquiring traits that would only help him through these woods. 

He’d been well and truly briefed. At least a little bit, anyway. 

It was time to debrief, and then, when he was ready, restart his adventure. Hopefully with people to support him this time around. 

Marvin blinked back tears, his vision of his sorry excuse for a mother blurring and distorting. Wrangling free, he put his hands against her shoulders and scrunched up his face, looking away. And he pushed. With all his strength, which wasn’t very much, admittedly, he pushed. Pushed away every cutting word and harrowing day spent as a Feldman. She stumbled backwards, her assertive stance faltering as she gripped onto anything she could find to steady her. The boy sped down the stairs. He tripped over the last few, but paid his throbbing knees and ribcage no mind. From the marble floor he scrambled to his feet, and allowed his wide eyes to waver. Downstairs was pitch-black. He almost considered saying goodbye to each individual room, like Emmett had when they left Roxbury. It hit him that he wouldn’t miss a thing about the place, but there was one final thing he had to do. 

Shuffling into the eerie kitchen, Marvin snapped on the lights. It looked like something out of a home magazine. The cheery ambience it radiated made him cringe. He found the utensil drawer, and pulled it open. Digging around a little, he found the small hairpin he kept towards the back of the drawer - his key to food when the midnight hunger grew to be too much. He stood on his toes, for he was somewhat short and small for his age, and fingered the padlock on one of the cupboards. The lock gave a satisfying ‘click’ when Marvin stuffed the hairpin inside. Success. He was in. Rummaging around a little, he snatched up a bag of crackers and a box of fruit snacks, knowing Whizzer would appreciate them. 

Exhaling deeply, he faced the red front door one last time. He gently put a hand on the circular knob, lip quivering. He tried the door. It opened. 

The air outside felt new. Like the universe had went under renovation just for him. He burst into tears as he ran to the smiling party waiting outside for him. Every single one of them pulled him into a bone-crushing group hug, ruffling his hair and laughing. The tears kept coming, but he genuinely smiled through it all, not bothering to wipe his flushed face on his sleeve. 

“These are for you. My mom locks the pantry at nighttime, but I know how to pick it,” he said softly, holding out the crackers in Whizzer’s direction. 

For the first time in, quite possibly, his entire life, Whizzer shook his head. “Keep them. You deserve them. You deserve way better than all this,” 

“We’ll share,” Marvin decided, before the water pipes inside him burst again. 

“C’mon, kid. We’re going home,” Katie interrupted, smiling as she mounted her bicycle. He was about to clamber into the sidecar, but Dee wrapped her arms around him from behind. 

“I’m glad you're outta there,” she sniffled. Their mission had been fulfilled. They saved someone. They saved a life. Their friend was on the road to self-acceptance and happiness, and she, Cordelia Rose Thompson, had played a part. God knew she’d think about that for years to come, and her heart would swell with happiness and her insides would go all warm and fuzzy every time. Today was a day she couldn’t and wouldn’t forget. 

“Give me my son back, or I’ll call the cops!” came a shrill, angry voice. 

“Go, go, go!” Jack yelled. Faster than the speed of sound, Dee grabbed the backpack and jumped into the wagon, burrowing herself under the blanket she brought. Whizzer and Marvin had already gotten themselves into position. A rogue flashlight soared through the air, landing squarely in the blonde girl’s hand. As if on cue, Katie began pedalling while Jack fumbled for the wagon’s handle and tugged its passenger down the block. Away they went, careering across the road. They weren’t afraid to whoop and holler and laugh, despite the ungodly hour. The dead neighbourhood felt full of life, and Marvin enjoyed every second as he sat, knees drawn up to his chest, in the bicycle’s sidecar. This. This was his family. The wind whistled and giggled good-naturedly in his ears, complementing the mood of the action-packed night. 

Turning his head, Whizzer cast a glance at him, holding the crackers in an outstretched hand. “Finish these. There’ll be more at home, too, if you’re still hungry,”

“Not if you get to ‘em first,” Marvin said. For a moment, he wondered if Whizzer would take him home because of what he’d said, but his good friend only cracked a smile and rolled his eyes playfully. 

“I’ll try my best not to,” he said, chuckling. “Try,”

“Can’t make any promises, though,” Jack said warily, jogging up beside his pedalling sister. “I know my little brother,”

“We have so many stories, Marvin,” Katie quirked an eyebrow, taking her blue eyes off the road momentarily to offer the boy in the sidecar a friendly, open grin. To her amusement, the idea of listening to tales of the unfortunate things that had occurred in Whizzer Price-Brown’s life seemed to excite him. “Just wait till tomorrow. I can ask Mom to dig up the photo album, it’s probably lying around somewhere. We’ll tell you all of them,” 

Biting her lip mischievously, Dee shone the flashlight in the direction of the others, who winced and promptly turned away at the sudden beam of harsh, yellow light. “Even the one on Kev’s birthday, when-”

“Shut up!” Whizzer cried hotly, folding his arms and pouting. This didn’t last long, before a string of elated giggles escaped his lips, only causing the other four to do the same. 

When the oldest girl’s bike pulled into the driveway of the Price-Brown house, Jack helped the blanket-wrapped Cordelia out of the wagon. Nervously, Marvin rubbed at his arm while they ascended the front steps. What would their parents say the next morning, when they found him sleeping in their house? Marvin came to the conclusion that, whatever they did to him, they couldn’t send him home. He’d make sure of it. Whizzer offered him his hand and the ghost of a smile when his big sister stuffed the house key into the lock. They all were nearly knocked clean off their feet in surprise when they saw what was behind the door. Anne-Marie, the mother of the six rowdy kids that Marvin had come to befriend, her appearance bedraggled and slatternly, gripping her youngest son’s wooden Little League bat in poised hands, a wild look in her hazel eyes. 

Jack tilted his head. “Mom?”

Her stance never faltering, the lady’s scrutinising gaze darted from one child to the next. Whether this was some kind of crazy dream, or if she was sleepwalking again, she couldn’t tell. But she hid the bat behind her back immediately after making eye contact with a scarred, scared-looking Marvin, who seemed to have tried to make himself seem as small as he could. It pained Anne-Marie to know that that wasn’t too impossible a feat. Her stony expression morphed into one of mild confusion and sympathy, blended into one queer smoothie. “We’ll talk in the morning,” she said, awkwardly trying to hide the baseball bat from view. Furrowing her brows, Anne-Marie got to her knees in front of the still-terrified Marvin. “Marvin, what’s wrong? What’re you doing here?” 

“My mom, she- I ran away from her. C-can I stay here for a little, if it’s okay? I-I don’t need much, just a place to sleep, maybe some food every now and again, and-”

The lady laughed quietly, shaking her head. Warmly, she smiled up at him, and tucked a strand of her short hair behind an ear. Anne-Marie gently brushed back a rogue curl of Marvin’s, holding his small hands in hers. “Of course you can stay. Stay as long as you want. You’re one of us. I love you as much as I love the others, Marvin,” she assured him. “I haven’t got a bed set up for you just yet, I’m sorry, but Adam and I can get on it tomorrow. In the meantime, the couch is available, if you want it?”

Sobs couldn’t help but slip through. Whizzer’s mother rubbed his shoulder comfortingly. “Thank you,”

“Pleasure,” she replied, without missing a beat, and pulled the weeping child into a hug. “Jack, honey, go find some blankets for me? And Katie, get one of the pillows from your room?”

The mentioned children happily obliged. 

  
  


“Thank you again,” Marvin whispered to the swarming darkness, as Anne-Marie pulled the covers over his small body. For as long as he lived, he didn’t think he’d be able to explain to her how much gratitude he felt. Someday, he sincerely hoped he could repay her. Whizzer, too, because he’d be spending another night whimpering up in his bedroom while Emmett dozed if it weren’t for him and Cordelia and his siblings. They loved him, all of them did, and that was what Marvin wanted more than anything to ever exist in the world. 

“Don’t mention it,” she said, stroking his cheek. “It’s what family’s for. Goodnight, Marvin. Sleep well,” And, with a kiss to the forehead, she traipsed out of the pitch-black room. 

Even when sleep lured him into its black lair underneath a deceased tree, the full moon sending out slivers of pale, chilling light, drugging him with its wicked concoctions and potions, sending him into a brief and blissful trance of nothing, Marvin knew that the candle in his heart would continue to glow and waver and dance the tango for years to come. 

_ fin.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaand that’s a wrap! i figured i’d wait till the end notes to add this, so as to not spoil anything, but i was thinking of doing like,,, a companion? just a collection of oneshots about marvin’s life at the browns’ :)  
> let me know if you want to see that, because i can already tell i’d have a lot of fun writing it lmao
> 
> thank you for reading! <33


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